The City of Frye
by Wandergirl108
Summary: Inspired by the fake Minecraft event made by YouTuber Syndicate, Music Disc 11, my devotion to Herobrine, and a night spent reading creepypasta, this children's creepypasta was the result. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

The City of Frye

We were once a great people. Had humans been able to see our city in its prime, they would have recognized a civilization comparable to their own. They could not have, of course; we were careful to stay hidden from them. Even now, though, if they can find our deserted city, they would recognize features they are used to in their own world, and would probably see no purpose for in the world of Minecraftia.

What happened to us? That is a long story, one I hope I still have enough time to tell. Some of us fell ill with a plague and joined the skeletons and zombies that abound in this world; those were the lucky ones. Sadly, I am not one of those fortunate few who was saved by the illnesses; that said, had I joined them, I do not know if I would still have the sense to tell my tale. My tale…I would like to say what happened was preventable, but I do not see how it could have been. We were careful not to incur the wrath of The One; He was kind to us, and we, in turn, respected Him. I do not know what changed. I do not even know if He knows what changed. Perhaps nothing changed, except fate…

Of course, we were not foolish; the ever-changing world of Minecraftia presented many hazards to us, as it does to humans. We were always prepared, should the Almighty Creator see fit to present us with something that would threaten our existence. Little did we suspect that when disaster struck, it would come from within our own walls…

I realize I am rambling. I am the last of my kind, and I am fading fast. I am writing this, in the hopes that someone may find my remains and hear my story. Perhaps a people like ours will come to be again, and perhaps, if that happens, my tale will prevent another tragedy from taking them, like it did us…

Whoever you are, be you human, night-walker, sentient day-walker, or the beginnings of a new civilization, heed my tale: the story of the rise and fall of my people, the people of The City of Frye…


	2. The Rise of Frye

Where to begin? I am not sure. In truth, I am not entirely sure when _it_ began.

Perhaps things will be clearer if I describe how our city rose. At first, we were few…What were we? Not zombies; not skeletons; not Creepers; certainly not sheep, pigs, cows, chickens, squids, Slimes, or spiders; not zombie pigmen; not Endermen; not silverfish; nay, we were not even those inhabitants of the little villages that have been cropping up in the world, the Testificates. Some might say, in the future, that the Testificates are our descendants; in the event that that rumor begins, I will squash it here and now: that is a lie. My kind were wiped out.

But what were we? I cannot say. Our kind needed no name; no human knew of our existence, save the Almighty Creator and his associates, so there was no point in giving a name to our race. We were simply Minecraftians, and happy ones at that, at least at first. As I said, at first, we were few, but we grew in number quickly. I was actually very young when the disaster started, so of our times of prosperity, I mostly only know stories. What I do know is that my people quickly grew to live the way visiting humans did: building houses, crafting tools and other materials, mining resources, and using light. Perhaps, in a way, we were the true humans of Minecraftia, though we knew and respected The One.

Speaking of The One, or Herobrine, as He is more often called, He was very much a part of our lives. It was He who hid us from the humans who inhabited avatars and raided the world of Minecraftia; you see, our city existed, and still does exist - and probably always will exist - in a fold in the fabric of the world, which no invading human can penetrate - not even the locator spell they can cast, which tells them how far from the center of the world they are, can detect the rift we lived in. We were safe from them. Of course, true natives could always find their way into our little private fold in reality, but that was okay; we coexisted well with all the native inhabitants of Minecraftia. Anyway, it was The One who gave us this safe haven, and expanded it as we expanded our need for space - only He could create that rift in space from within the world itself.

At first our city was more like a village: a house here, a farm there…but we expanded, until eventually our city spanned miles of land. We grew to seek luxury…and it is there, I think, that the chaos began, though I have no real evidence to prove my suspicion. At any rate, we were united into one great civilization under one leader, and it will not surprise any human who finds this record that our reigning monarchs belonged to the House of Frye - we named our city after our first king, and his descendants thereafter all kept his name, right through to the final days of our kind. James Frye, our first king's name was, and he and his queen, Adele, were the first monarchs the world of Minecraftia had ever seen. They were good rulers, too, or so the stories say. They always deferred to The One, of course, but He let us live our lives our way, not questioning our almost-human tendencies. He was kind to us, and supported us, and with His help, we prospered. Of course, we eventually needed to gather resources from outside our haven, but we found a way to fix that: we built huge airships, which truly did fly through the air, though it will be hard for humans to comprehend that. We rarely ventured outside on our ships, though, and when we did, we only took what we needed before we returned home. Some of my earliest memories are of my father showing me around the ship he took every now and then; he was one of the few Miners who ventured out on occasion to bring back resources for our city.

That is how we began…yet I still have no clearer idea of where to begin with the telling of how we fell. I cannot reca


	3. The Unrest

Where was I? I can't find the last page I was writing on. I don't have time to keep looking. I am dying, and what's more, They found me. They are coming. I had to run, and I am safe for now, though not for much longer. I hope They take me; I would rather die by Their hands than by this illness I've been stricken with. If only this illness was one of the plagues that changed some of our kind into zombies or skeletons…sadly, I have been stricken with the plague that brings true death. Unlike with Them, however, my mind has been spared, if only just…

Did I say my kind were wiped out? Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration. There are some left, though none are left with their senses. They're dying too, the ones that remain, but They have gone mad; They will die killing.

I have no more time. I do not know exactly _when_ the chaos began, but I do know _what_ marked its beginning: the Unrest.

A sense of disquiet started to overcome my people one day. I do not know when, or how, though I have my suspicions as to why. In fact, I believe the music discs found in night-walker birthing areas were warnings; warnings we were too blind to heed, though I myself didn't suspect anything until it was far too late. Keep this in mind, whoever you are, and if I can say nothing else before I die, let this be known: green is life; gold is chaos. Such was the case with the music discs that were already naturally found in our world when my kind first came to be: the green ones, on which is recorded the song "CAT", hold an upbeat yet serene tune; the gold ones, on which is recorded the pseudo-song "13" (the irony of the number only now occurs to me), hold sounds of chaos and haunting. We ignored this subtle warning, though, and we enjoyed both recordings when we created jukeboxes of our own, in the same style as invading humans did, and still do today. We even learned to create our very own music discs, of many colors and patterns, with many tunes and sounds; those musics are all that remain of our civilization at its most prosperous. I have a blank disc here with me even as I write this, though only the sound of my breathing is left to be recorded; I do not have the strength to speak my tale out loud.

But what was I saying? Ah, yes: the Unrest. I remember the first time I felt it: a strange, almost overpowering feeling of…of _not right_-ness that I couldn't explain. It started hitting all of my people one day, hard; we were deeply afraid when it began. We didn't know, couldn't even imagine, the cause. We feared that it was a premonition that some terrible force or entity was going to come and destroy us. In a way, I suppose we were right; our fear that the force would be an external one, however, proved entirely false. Still, we could not have known that at the time, and we began training soldiers. The One Himself helped us; He helped us fashion human-style weapons and armor. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that He Himself had no idea what was going to happen, though His ignorance in the matter strikes me as strange.

At any rate, we trained soldiers, and began preparing for battle against an unimaginable foe, though we had little idea what it was we had to prepare to face. The One told us of the intentions of His brother, the Almighty Creator, to introduce a race of creatures known as dragons to the world of Minecraftia, and I remember that for a good while, we believed that that was the foe we somehow intuitively feared. Our fear was not groundless; dragons are, after all, supposedly a very mighty, powerful race of beings. Sadly, our kind will not live to see the day they come to Minecraftia, if they ever do…

I remember the great wall we built to contain most of our city, leaving only the port exposed, though that was okay, since no one lived out there full-time. When the Endermen started invading at night, along with the rest of the night-walkers, we were glad for our soldiers; we felt the need to fight to protect our homes and the great wall that surrounded us, which a single, determined Enderman could have potentially dismantled, had he or she so desired. We even built cannons. Cannons…ha. The thought of those contraptions almost makes me laugh now, though I am on the cusp of death. So unnecessary…so ridiculous…

If only we had known…


	4. The Fever

The illnesses struck us first. That was when we knew that the disaster we intuitively feared would come from _within_ the walls we had so painstakingly built. My neighbor and good friend, Benjamin, was the first to fall ill. He became a skeleton, and joined the night-walkers. The rest of his family followed him shortly thereafter.

Of course, we panicked. When, merely two days later, several people, from various places all over the city, fell ill all at once, we started quarantining them, as though the illnesses could spread. I don't know if they could. No one will ever know if they could. Of course, we didn't realize at the time that the ones who were getting sick were the ones who were being saved…that these illnesses, compared to the one that was coming, were relatively welcome…No, we had no idea. We feared the illnesses that turned our kind into night-walkers. In fact, for the brief time that it was our only malady, we feared it as the source of the Unrest.

Then the Madness struck.

Ironically - or, perhaps, tellingly - our king was the first to fall. In his lavish castle, the size of an entire sector of our city, he fell victim to a terrible fever, of both body and mind. His name was Connor, I remember. He killed his queen in their bed the night he fell ill, then he killed his only child, the boy named Nathan. When the bodies of his family were discovered by some of his servants, who then called the soldiers and the rest of us for help, he flew into a rage, killing everyone in sight before he fell over and died himself.

The fever, the Madness, then spread, and fast. In a single day and night, chaos took over. Some of us, myself included, took up the weapons and armor we had prepared and tried to fight Them…I will always think of the ones who went mad as Them, for those who fell ill with the Madness are no longer of our kind; at least, They are not in my mind (which I feel blessed to still have). They, of course, having once been of our kind, had equal access to the weapons and armor we had readied, and so took them up in turn. What resulted could only have been called a civil war. Watching fathers killing sons, sisters killing brothers, friends killing friends…I couldn't take the sight of it, and I fled. I watched from a distance as our kind were decimated, and by our own selves, at that. All the preparing we had done to fight a great enemy, and that great enemy turned out to be us…

Those who had fallen victim to the Madness, ironically, were the ones who were ultimately victorious. For some reason, They only attacked those who weren't infected; in fact, come to think of it, They worked _together_ to kill everyone left who still had retained their senses. Even now, They aren't fighting each other. They only seek out those who haven't fallen to the Madness…or rather, the only one left who hasn't fallen: me.


	5. Epilogue

Maybe I'm not sick. I have this cough, but I still have my mind…

They're coming. I can hear Them. Before I go, I have to say what I believe; I may not have another chance.

I believe the source of the Madness was greed. I believe that my people became too attached to luxury, and became too human-like. I believe that we started losing our senses as Minecraftians, and started craving possessions and lavishness too much. I have no way to prove this; all I have is the potential warning presented by the two natural music discs of the world - the only ones that existed before we started making more - and what I have heard were the last words of our king, Connor Frye: "I will not share!"

I don't want to die. Maybe I can outrun Them. They'll die soon; They've been infected with the fever for some time now. They don't have much time left.

I have to try.


End file.
